


Quiet Interruption

by athena3062



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-05
Updated: 2014-10-05
Packaged: 2018-02-20 00:41:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2408849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/athena3062/pseuds/athena3062
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A conversation between Emma and Killian, post 4x1. She doesn't know what to do in the quiet moments, but his words fill the silence.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Quiet Interruption

Emma leaned over the doorknob, both hands wrapped around thin metal tools, balancing on her toes. One tool rubbed against the locking mechanism, the sound of metal on metal louder in her imagination than in the quiet hallway. She twisted her right hand sharply and the lock gave way.

She stepped over the threshold, eyes straining in the blue-gray light. The curtains were drawn back, weak moonlight spilling over the furniture. He was face-down on the mattress, one arm dangling over the edge, possibly completely naked. 

Automatically, she pushed the door closed, wincing when it slammed into place. Killian’s eyes opened, instantly alert. He lifted his head from the pillows, relaxing slightly when he saw her familiar silhouette. “Swan?” His voice, confused and rough with sleep, shouldn’t have made her stomach clench. But it did.

“Yeah.” Emma's toes throbbed, trapped inside too-thick socks and damp boots (the rain had started after sunset and hadn't let up). She yanked one arm of her coat over her wrist, pulling it off quickly. 

“Go back to sleep,” she whispered. Emma tossed the damp fabric across the room, aiming at the armchair. It sailed over the chair, landing beneath the window.

"I can't," he replied. "You broke into my quarters." He sat up, back against the headboard and sheet bunched around his waist, watching her unlace her boots without sitting down.

Socks abandoned on the floor, Emma sighed loudly when her bare toes touched cold floorboards. She had tried to sleep, but after staring at the ceiling for what felt like hours, had given up. She’d grabbed clothes blindly in the dark, hopefully more clean than dirty, determined to leave the loft without waking anyone. But Mary Margaret had still been awake when Emma came down to the main level. From her seat in the rocking chair, Mary Margaret had ignoring the guilty expression on her daughter’s face and only suggested a raincoat. It had been worse than any lecture.

Thunder crashed outside the window. Emma glanced across the room. Killian sat in bed, watching her with eyes that noticed too much. She looked away quickly. 

Emma wouldn’t admit how trapped she felt; expectations pressing relentlessly against her with no relief. She tugged her sweater over her head, tossing it onto the floor. She wouldn’t tell him how much she craved the rumble of traffic, sirens and horns breaking the quiet moments. 

"What happened to being patient?" His question pulled her into the moment.

Emma pressed her hands against her thighs – jeans slightly damp but her top was dry – and tried to smile. “Do you want me to leave?”

“Don't be hasty." Killian gestured at the empty space beside him. 

It was all the invitation she needed. Emma sank onto the mattress before she overthought anything else. She turned onto her side, tugging a pillow closer. Creased and indented, it was warm against her cheek. 

Killian looked down but Emma didn’t meet his eyes. She tried to stifle another yawn and failed. 

Too much had happened, moment after shattered moment, and she can't fix anything. She can't stop ice or mend the wreckage of Regina's life. Failures curled around her ribs, making it impossible to breathe. If she wasn't able fix things, what was the point of staying in Storybrooke? Despite the brave words and confident smiles, she had known this moment was coming, when everyone would see who she was: the lost girl who still didn't belong. 

She couldn’t breathe. "I shouldn't be here." Emma sat up quickly, swinging her legs over the edge of the mattress. Shoulders hunched, she stared at the door. She was too far gone, too comfortable with him at her side. 

Killian touched her shoulder. "You can’t run away from everything.”

She recoiled. He didn’t understand. How could he? Her magic had fueled the snow monster's rage, turning the situation into something more dangerous. Too many people could have been hurt: him, her father. She didn't know how to sit still, helpless and waiting, a position she had fought so hard to never find herself in again. But she was still back at the beginning, trapped with no way to leave because she'd promised and Emma Swan was a lot of things but she wasn't a liar (not about the things that mattered). 

Emma twisted her upper body so she was facing him, too aware of the flush spreading across her bare chest and up her neck. "And you don't get to tell me what to do." Her fingers were cold. "I’m doing my best."

"Liar." 

The word seemed to echo between them, taunting Emma. Ugly words turned her stomach. 

Emma swallowed hard. "So what? I didn't ask for this." She hadn’t asked for anything in a very long time; without expectations, she wouldn’t be disappointed. 

"Bullshit," Killian retorted. "I know you lass. Know how deep those scars go." He touched her shoulder. "I've seen worse. Done worse. And didn't think there was anything on the other side." Killian waited; he didn’t need to tell her what changed. She already knew (as did half the town if they were being particular). 

Emma swallowed hard over the lump in her throat, head ducked so he couldn't see her face. Rain beat steadily against the window. 

"Now either come to bed or let me go to sleep.” 

Emma turned completely, shifting herself closer, legs folded. He saw her, despite the walls she had been desperate to keep between them, and still pushed closer. But she knew how comfortable he was alone; he had built a life without attachments, forged over decades. One day he would tire of being patient. 

Emma hesitated, gathering her resolve before the moment shattered. "I don't like birds. Or winter." Killian lifted his left eyebrow but her words tumbled faster. "I hate to cook. I don’t know how to be the person who has the answers. Because I don’t." She reached for his hand, fingers curved around his palm like a lifeline. "I don't know how to do any of this…" 

"Doesn't matter," he offered with a chuckle. "In this town the odds are fairly high that tomorrow there'll be something completely new chasing us." 

Emma's mouth curved into a smile. "Promise?" 

He cupped her jaw gently, tipping her chin. "Aye." 

It was quickly becoming her favorite word. Emma leaned forward, kissing him hungrily, hair falling between them like a curtain. He pushed her hair over her shoulder, his breath warm against her ear. 

She didn't know what to do in the quiet moments, but his words slipped between them, coarse and beautiful syllables, pushing away the silence.


End file.
